A/N: Enjoy another little bit from Adrian's pov (Blood Promise, chapter 4, page 63). It might not be the most exciting excerpt from his eyes but, y'know, at least it's something. :P

Chapter Song;
Warning Sign by Coldplay

I missed her so much. Oh God, I missed her.

Visiting Rose in her dreams, well, it didn't fulfull my desire to be with her so much that the heartache, which her absence caused me, faded at the slightest bit. It was just enough to get me through the days without her; thus, and booze.

And to make such matters worse, I only got to visit her dreams every so often. The gaps between these encounters, hell, they were excruciating. I felt alone, though I had Lissa and her sarcastic-ass boyfriend Christian, and the friendly scowls and frowns from St. Vladimir's teachers. But without her, I felt a part of me was missing.

Then again, I never actually had Rose. I never felt her love the way Dimitri Belikov once had. Perhaps a part of me was always missing.

And oh, how I loved Rose, though she did not love me. My heart broke for her just as her heart shattered for Dimitri, the man who truly owned her heart. But I could not dwell on my own petty feelings; Rose was hurting.

Whatever my little dhampir had to do to move on, I had to accept, even through the hurt and the heartbreak. It was the only way I'd ever feel as if I had a chance.

Tonight, I stand in St. Vladimir's library, surrounded by books, lots of books, and fancy-looking computers. Relief and excitement flood through me as Rose, beautiful, fiery Rose, appears in front of me. Her back is facing me, though I can tell all she is wearing is a simple t-shirt and sweat pants. Long, dark hair cascades down her back. I do everything I can not to hold myself back from running my fingers through it.

"Oh, come on. Not today," she groans. Her voice is music to my ears, a sweet and seductive lullaby.

I smirk, "Why not today? Why not everyday?" Half of me is playing with her, teasing her, trying to irate her. The other half of me, a very dominant half of me, is serious.

She turns around, and not surprisingly, she still looks as stunning and sexy as ever. Agony is coursing through me, my heart a throbbing ache in my chest.

"True," she admits bluntly. "I suppose I should be grateful you only show up about once a week."

Ouch. I grin anyway, masking my wounded ego. Grabbing a wooden chair from one of the computers, I sit myself down backwards. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Rose. Don't want you taking me for granted."

I realize, after the words have fallen out, how late I am. As if she could even take me for granted; in her mind, once I'm gone, I'm gone. No regrets, no 'what ifs', no granted taken. I cross my arms over the back of the chair, tense. I don't want to be right anymore.

"We're in no danger of that; don't worry." I've no clue what to make of that.

Swallowing hard, I make my voice as casual as I can manage, "Don't suppose you're going to tell me where you are?"

"Nope."

I was expecting that. Stupid question.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"You kill me, Rose," I throw this in quite dramatically, a little too dramatically to come off as serious. But every bit of truth is there. "Every day is agony without you. Empty. Alone. I pine for you, wondering if you're even still alive."

Melodramatic fool is written all over my face at this point, and Rose doesn't seem too convinced. I feel relieved almost, that she doesn't take it to heart. But at the same time, I'm disappointed. Disappointed that she still doesn't truly see how much I miss her.

She crosses her arms, an action that seems too impatient to me, "Well, I'm still alive, clearly. So I guess you can let me go back to sleep."

"How many times have I told you? You are asleep."

"And yet I inexplicably feel exhausted talking to you."

I laugh at this. It feels good. "Oh, I do so miss you. She misses you, too."

The laugh has faded now, and Rose goes rigid. I regret saying anything, now that I see how uncomfortable she suddenly looks. Sadness passes over her face, quite likely from the thought of Lissa, and I shift and fidgit a bit, waiting 'til the right moment to say something. Problem is, I don't know when the right moment is.

After a few moments, I give her a knowing look. My voice is unusually gentle. "Do you go see her?"

"No," she says. I raise an eyebrow. "That's not my life anymore."

"Right. Your life is all about dangerous vigilante missions." I've no clue where the wit and sarcasm came from, though the sarcasm is incredibly light because it is, indeed, true. From my eyes, at least. And Rose probably suspects that from my eyes, everything is a blurry daze. Her next words convince me quite thoroughly.

"You wouldn't understand anything that isn't drinking, smoking, or womanizing." This doesn't surprise me.

I shake my head, pointing out the utterly obvious. "You're the only one I want, Rose."

"Well, you can keep feeling that way, but you're going to have to keep waiting." Hope flickers inside of me like a tiny flame, soon engulfing my entire being. It's certainly foolish to hope so devotedly for something that you know will never be yours, but it's certainly hard not to.

"Much longer?" This is a question I ask Rose frequently, and it's a question I will continue to ask her until I get the answer I want.

This time she hesitates, and I hold my breath. "I don't know."

It's not exactly the answer I want, but it's so damn close. "That's the most optimistic thing you've told me so far," I say, nearly satisfied.

"Don't read too much into it. 'I don't know' could mean one day or one year. Or never."

The last part isn't too encouraging, but I'm already on top of the world. My signature grin, or so I call it, returns. "I'm going to hope it's one day."

Hope for the best. It's all I ever do anymore.

Rose thinks for a second, and surprises me yet again. "Hey, have you ever heard of the Alchemists?"

Talk about change in subject. "Sure."

"Of course you have," she mutters.

"Why? Did you run into them?" I raise an eyebrow questioningly.

"Kind of."

"What'd you do?" I can only think of the worst, or at least nothing too flattering.

"Why do you think I did anything?" I hear the accusation in her voice, but even she should know better.

I laugh, "Alchemists only show up when trouble happens, and you bring trouble wherever you go. Be careful, though. They're religious nuts."

"That's kind of extreme," she says. I realize, who am I to judge? I don't know the Alchemist she bumped into. Admittedly, I know I couldn't judge anyone because I'm a lowlife drunk who refuses to live with reality, and any person who laid their eyes on me for the first time would know that, too. After they look through my charming good looks, that is.

"Just don't let them convert you," I wink, looking at her slyly. "I like you being the sinner you are." I then end the dream, leaving her for a still and undisturbed sleep, or so I hoped, just for her sake.

As the library dissolves around me, I find myself alone, sprawled out on my couch. It's kind of like a slap in the face, the sudden loneliness. Usually it doesn't settle in until the next day, when I regret not staying longer, or I just long to see her again. But now, with a half empty bottle of vodka in my hand and a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach, it hits as quick as ever.

Taking a swing of vodka, I lay my head back on the couch's armrest and close my eyes lightly, taking a deep breath. Everything is silent, except for my heavy breathing. Everything is still, except for the rise and fall of my chest.

Then the most unusual thing happens. My breath turns into a shuddering gasp, a loud sob escaping my mouth. I keep my eyes squeezed shut, forcing the tears back, but they fall anyway. The alcohol does nothing, numbing no feelings or worries.

It's okay. You'll see her again. It's okay.

But the tears drowned out every thought, the sobs drowning out every sound. It's not okay, and I don't know if I'll ever see her again. And I guess that's what scares me the most.